


A New Beginning

by Madelief



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 01:26:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13179447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madelief/pseuds/Madelief
Summary: Lars can't quite believe that Corypheus is dead. Everything has been building up to that moment, and finally, it's done. He can live again, think about the future. Could now be the time for him to finally confess his innermost desires to Dorian?This is a Christmas present for the wonderful and talented Gerry Arthur, who has done all the stunning artwork for my main fics with Cullen and Lea, and is also a dear friend. If you've never checked out his gallery onDeviantArtyou totally should. So here's his Inquisitor Lars Trevelyan and Dorian being all cute together.Merry Christmas Gerry! *hugs*





	A New Beginning

_It’s over._

He couldn’t quite believe it. It was hard to believe anything, given they were suspended in the no-man’s wasteland of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Right where it’d all begun. It was as if Corypheus had meticulously replicated every last detail simply to drive Lars’s fevered imagination into overdrive. Right down to the stench of burning demon flesh and charred corpses, and the eerie gloom of twilight which not even the brightest ray of sun could permeate. Even the residual force of rift magic reverberating on every particle of his skin in the most unpleasant fashion hadn’t changed from that first fateful day.

‘We did it.’

His whisper was caught in the cloud of mist from his breath, the air bitingly cold and temperatures plummeting as the world darkened around them.

_Light. The Breach._

_That’s the difference._

There had been one detail Corypheus couldn’t replicate, of course. Repeated tremors up his left arm shook Lars’ whole body, the green glow emulating from his palm the only visible source of light in an increasingly darkening universe. Before, from Day Zero as he’d always secretly termed it, he’d viewed the world through sickly Fade-green tinted goggles. The Breach and the power unleashed by Corypheus and the Orb had tainted everything that day. And the days and weeks and months after, in the Inquisition’s long struggle to put an end to forces which should never have been unleashed.

No matter where he’d been or how far he’d travelled away from Haven, the monstrous light of the fractured sky plagued him both night and day, the swirling green vortex of clouds seared onto his vision. Now it was gone, the tremendous force buffeting Lars and nearly driving him to oblivion as he’d raised his hands to the heavens and sealed the Breach shut for a second time, firmly shoving Corypheus beyond the Veil where the crazed magister rightly belonged.

There was no relief, no wild desire to dance a jig of victory, that such an ancient and terrifying enemy was dead. Instead, Lars battled to stay upright and not give into the overwhelming urge to vomit over his feet. That his power had grown in such strength since that long-ago day was a fact he’d conveniently ignored, held in check until absolutely necessary.

He didn’t need warnings on the dangers of magic. Lars had been the most diligent of pupils at the Ostwick Circle and routinely shunned for his willingness to cooperate with the Templar Order. The magical inferno Corypheus had ignited was Lars’ worst nightmare come to life. The age-old fear of magic was so ingrained in his conscience, to even imagine channelling the volume of energy he’d needed to beat his nemesis nearly pushed Lars over the edge. His fists clenched harder, one breath dragging out after another as he fought to bring the torrent of fear under control.

‘Amatus.’

The hairs rose on the back of his neck, the one word softly murmured behind him, pierced the protective shield of denial Lars had been busy erecting to defend himself. Dorian was standing quietly, patiently waiting, understanding the opposing sides warring for dominance within Lars’ soul. The spoken endearment was a balm to the violence around and within him, Lars’ breathing steadying as he closed his eyes, allowing Dorian’s silent support to bolster his own faltering resolve.

‘We did it, didn’t we?’ The tremulous quaver made Lars squeak, Dorian’s low chuckle in response warming him further. ‘This isn’t another dream?’

‘You did it, amatus. The rest of us were just along for the ride.’ Dorian’s self-depreciating humour drew the first smile from Lars in what felt like an eternity. ‘Quite the dazzling display you put on. A veritable kaleidoscope of colour! I wish I’d the talent to draw, because capturing Corypheus’ expression as he was pummelled out of existence is something that will have me laughing time and time again.’

Lars opened his eyes and fixed his gaze on the empty spot where Corypheus had been stood. There was a black scorch mark on the nondescript grey stone, but no other indication that such a terrifying magister had ever stalked the earth. It was truly over.

‘No. We did it. How could this Inquisitor have ever achieved such a feat on his own?’ Lars exhaled, rubbing a weary hand across his eyes. ‘It is done, thanks to all of us. Maker, I could sleep for a month.’

‘Don’t look now.’ Amusement laced Dorian’s tone. ‘You’re about to be greeted like a hero. Sleep’s going to have to wait a while yet.’

Footsteps and the chatter of his fellow companions confirmed that the rest of them had climbed to the Temple, allowing Lars the moments he needed to restore himself.

‘Do I have to?’

Lars’ unintentionally plaintive whine bought forth a laugh from Dorian, Lars’ smile widening at the sound. It was all too frequent to hear Dorian’s mocking laughter, the sharp wit and ferocious intelligence of the Tevinter mage rarely matched by anyone save a select few. It was with pleasure, however, that Lars noticed how the same mocking humour had declined over the months since joining the Inquisition. The laugh had lightened and become a genuine appreciation of life, representative of the respect and companionship Dorian had unwittingly found.

To hear that particular laugh directed at him sent a molten glow radiating from Lars’ heart. Slowly he turned, lifting his gaze to meet the piercing green one eyeing him with a mixture of entertainment, unashamed relief and an undefinable something which made Lars’ breath hitch. Even with the dust and grime of battle and gore splattered everywhere, his hair uncharacteristically awry, armour torn in places where he’d not danced out of a talon’s reach in time, Dorian was the best thing Lars had ever lain eyes on.

With monumental self-restraint he stopped from flinging his arms around the other man and holding him as tight as he could. Feasting his eyes on his amatus was the second best thing for now. Wave after wave of relaxation soothed him, merely being in Dorian’s proximity and listening to the sound of his teasing calming Lars as nothing else quite could.

‘You’re the Inquisitor. A symbol of hope and positive change for millions. Slayer of magisters who seemingly rose from the dead, master manipulator of emperors and empresses, friend to kings and commoners alike. You are a legend…..Maker’s Breath, I try and compliment you and you merely turn puce with embarrassment!’ Dorian’s lips quirked upwards in a crooked smile. ‘Should I take myself elsewhere?’

‘Please don’t.’ Lars self-consciously ran a hand through his hair, in a pointless attempt to tame the unruly blonde strands flying into his tired eyes. ‘Where would I be without the best-dressed man in Thedas by my side, lending me some much-needed presence? Apparently?’

‘I’m so glad you’ve bowed to the inevitable and acknowledged my magnificence. Vivienne thinks she’s got the monopoly on looking fabulous but, until she’s graced the loftiest drawing rooms draped in creations from Tevinter’s finest designers, anything coming out of Orlais is second-rate at best.’

‘It’s not that I’ve bowed to the inevitable. Don’t they teach the meaning of irony in Tevinter?’

‘You weren’t being serious?’ Dorian’s dramatic grasp of his chest had Lars snorting in stifled laughter. ‘My dear amatus, I am wounded to the quick! Why you, of all people, should take this seriously! It is no laughing matter….’

_I love you. I thought I would lose you forever…..I was so scared…._

_I love you. You’re safe now. We both are. It’s over._

Sincere words, left unspoken, underlay the light-hearted sparring. Beneath the surface of their trivial banter was a torrent of emotion flowing between them both. If either he or Dorian deviated from their usual pattern they’d both break. There were things Lars wanted to share with Dorian, and Dorian alone, not with a crowd of his closest friends looking on.

‘I suppose I have to go and talk to everyone now?’ It was difficult, to force the words out, Lars wishing for nothing but to be locked in his quarters with Dorian and the rest of the world be damned. ‘They’re waiting. I can feel Cassandra’s impatience rising without even looking. It’s like a porcupine bristling. I just want to….’

_Be in bed with you. Cuddling. Kissing. Feeling the protective heat of your body against mine._

_Holding each other close until our nightmares retreat. Sleep is only possible with you next to me._

‘They are worried too, you know. And Cassandra won’t bite. At least, not too hard.’ Dorian interrupted Lars’ wishful thinking, his eyes intent as they searched Lars’ face one last time. ‘I want to be alone with you as well. Just endure this, and the celebration party Josephine’s taken so much pleasure in throwing, and we’ll have our moment.’

Lars nodded, suddenly desperate to escape the stench of death and corruption of battle still swirling round the Temple ruins and scrub his skin repeatedly until the blood vanished from sight. He spun round to face the others – his friends – lined up silently, patiently waiting for him to return to the present, counting down the hours until he’d once again be on his own.

\-----

‘Going somewhere, amatus?’

Shivers of pleasure at the unexpected caress of Dorian’s voice over his senses shot down Lars’ spine, his hand paused on the open door. Without thinking, he turned and nearly bumped his nose into Dorian’s shoulder, flustered by the appearance of someone he’d thought happily wed to a wineskin for the remainder of Josephine’s interminable banquet.

‘You didn’t think that brief chat would be enough, did you?’ One perfectly arched eyebrow was raised as Dorian regarded him with exasperated affection.

‘Define enough,’ Lars retorted, trying his best not to laugh at Dorian’s startled expression.

_He’s going to stay._

_For me._

The statement Dorian had uttered in the Great Hall stirred a subtle but profound shift in Lars. The spectre of Corypheus was gone. The threat to Thedas had passed. The man he loved to distraction wouldn’t leave him. Giddy with silent exhilaration, the cloak of pious righteousness and pressure of expectation he’d wielded as effectively as any shield was shed in a matter of seconds.

For once, Lars wanted to have fun. He was allowed to relax. And there was only one man in the universe who he wanted to explore this newfound freedom with.

‘Insolence!’ Dorian’s startled expression adjusted into something which caused _Lars’ heart to skitter erratically._ ‘I like it.’

The space between them was closed, Lars audibly gulping as two strong hands planted themselves on his chest and pushed him firmly through the door. If he’d considered his heartbeat to be irregular before, it was now leaping in giant bounds out of his body. Laughing, he caught Dorian’s hand and they ran up the stairs.

‘Out of breath from a mere trundle up the stairwell?’ Dorian shot him a knowing wink. ‘I can’t blame you if it’s my august presence causing palpitations. It happens. I’m far too beautiful, after all.’

‘Have you forgotten what happened earlier or did I just dream of defeating a red lyrium-powered dragon and Corypheus in one fight alone?’ Lars shrugged nonchalantly in a useless attempt to hide just how affected he was, strolling towards the balcony and sucking in huge gulps of icy air. ‘I’m drained and exhausted. Then I had to do the pretty with a roomful of strangers after the most cursory of baths. Josephine is a hard taskmaster! She barely allowed me time to change! This is first chance I’ve had to collect my thoughts since that crazed darkspawn launched his attack. Is it any wonder I’m struggling?’

‘Ah, the sound of violins is deafening. A veritable orchestra of them playing, just for you.’ Dorian wasn’t fooled for a second, beginning to laugh at Lars’ attempts to deflect the conversation. I’ll show myself out, shall I?’

‘No! I mean, that is……’

Lars faltered to a stop, unable to articulate a need that had steadily built within him from the moment the arrogant, handsome Tevinter mage had sauntered into his life. He’d rejected the casual fling Dorian had offered months ago, much though that decision had cost him sleepless nights and restless days of thwarted frustration and unmitigated longing. Dorian oozed raw sex appeal, to such an extent Lars was frightened how badly he wanted to succumb and revel in a night of blind passion – a proposition he’d never have considered until this man shattered his perceptions of order.

Watching Dorian watching him now, however, Lars knew he’d been right to hold out, to listen to his instincts. Dorian deserved so much better than a roll in the hay, for lovers to actually be lovers forever rather than tossed aside and discarded in the face of societal pressure to conform. Dorian deserved a life partner, not just the satisfying of base carnal instincts. This special, unique, firey, unpredictable rebel who’d been abused and cast aside, deserved true love. A soulmate.

Could that person be him? Lars was the cold light of the moon compared to Dorian’s blazing sunburst, his righteousness and pious beliefs often challenged by Dorian’s disregard for the Chantry. Lars was well-behaved. Dorian delighted in breaking the rules. On the surface, they were the most ill-matched couple, often leaving their friends to shake their heads in disbelief at such an unmatched pair.

Over the long grind of war, however, something had shifted. They’d both changed, the mutual attracting between them transforming into emotions far more profound than mere desire alone. Respect, trust and appreciation of each other’s talents had grown. Both mages, they’d learnt from each other, some of the most pleasant hours of Lars’ life having been spent lying on the sofa in his quarters, his head in Dorian’s lap as they argued the finer points of magical theory.

They’d dated. Taken things slowly. Explored each other. Become friends.

_Fallen in love._

‘Yes yes, I’m sure you have all the things to say.’ It was as if Dorian could read his mind, for once as flustered as Lars by the charged atmosphere. ‘Two things in private before you run off. First, you are terribly dull and I hate you.’

Lars gave a snort of laughter, a grin spreading across his face. Dorian at his most insulting was a Dorian who was flailing about to maintain his cool. He faced the mountains, the cool breeze helping control the red flush of anticipation creeping up his cheeks.

‘And what’s the seco……’

His breath caught, Dorian’s powerful arms wrapping tightly around his waist as he pressed the lightest of kisses on Lars’ neck. With a sigh he let his head drop back onto Dorian’s shoulder, closing his eyes while he savoured the simple luxury of being held in a protective embrace. The fresh citrus scent he always associated with Dorian drifted into his nose, Lars tilting his head slightly to brush his lips against a sensitive spot just behind Dorian’s ear. Heat pooled in his belly as he felt Dorian’s slight tremble from the sensation, Lars always delighting in the impact a simple touch could have.

‘I hope this ends soon.’ Dorian stopped, pensive.

For a wild moment the bottom fell out of Lars’ world. ‘Not us, I assume?’

‘Of course not us. Does only Chant of Light’s droning reside between your ears?’ Dorian scornful dismissal restored Lars’ equilibrium. ‘The Inquisition. The war’s not over yet. You’re in demand. Tevinter continues to drink and dance its way into oblivion. We’re bound to be separated again. It’s hard to play happy families when there’s so many competing demands.’

‘Are you saying you might miss me a little bit?’ Lars’ hopes soared at the open admission from a man renowned for hiding his true feelings. ‘We’ve managed pretty well so far. Even if we have to be apart, we always find a way back to each other.’

‘How very poetic you’ve become these past few months. You should write sonnets rather than producing neverending research for Cullen on countering magical barriers and demonic possession. Still, it probably puts the poor old boy to sleep for a few hours at – what?’

‘Dorian.’ Lars deftly twisted round, raising one finger to trace his lips. ‘Shh.’

‘Did you just shush me?’ The faux outrage faded as Dorian caught sight of Lars’ intent expression. ‘Oh dear. Perhaps I should run for the – ‘.

‘I love you.’

Dorian’s lips parted, stunned for once into complete silence. Emboldened, Lars continued, blood racing through his veins as he finally revealed the truth.

‘I am in love with you. I want to grow old with you. Spend nights with you snuggled under the blankets talking for hours about nothing in particular. Spend days adventuring, reliving memories, reading books in the library. Crying when it hurts, healing together. Introduce you to my family, my parents. I dream of calling you husband one day, if you’ll accept. I’ll show Thedas how proud I am to have a man like you by my side.’

Lars licked his lips, suddenly unsure whether he’d gone too far. It was irrelevant, either way. He’d said it out loud now. The only thing he could do was hope and pray he’d done the right thing.

‘I know the horrors you’ve faced. I just….’ He stumbled, reaching for the right message. ‘Whatever you think about you is bad, it isn’t. Because your past is a part of you, and I love all of you. We’ll deal with it. Together. So please, have faith. In us.’

Dorian eventually moved, his hands dropping to grip Lars’ fingers tightly. ‘I love you too. Maker’s Breath, I’ve never met anyone like you. Who drives me to be the best person I can be, who loves me unconditionally. Love……it’s such a weak word to describe what you truly mean to me. The heady rush when I see you, the crushing blackness when you leave without me on another wretched expedition. The joy I take in your company, being in your space.’

Lars didn’t allow himself to breathe, recognising Dorian was struggling to explain concepts which, until the Inquisition, were foreign concepts denied to him. Companionship. Friendship. Loyalty. Togetherness. 

‘This is still new to me. I was never any good at relationships. But with you, I – it’s different. We work. For you, I’ll have faith. Even if we’re apart, I’ll never leave you, amatus.’

The kiss was slow, hesitant, as if they were discovering each other for the first time. Lars captured Dorian’s slight sigh, his tongue sliding across his lips and into his mouth. He tasted divine, of whiskey, sin and temptation. A potent package that had Lars captivated the moment Dorian had stumbled through the gates of Haven with Calpernia’s mage horde on his heels. He’d not recognised it at the time, but defeating Corypheus’ dragon and surviving the avalanche had taken on new meaning, thanks to Dorian’s arrival. Just as life itself had transformed ever since that hideous night.

His fingers curled in Dorian’s hair, deepening the kiss as their tongues flickered against each other. Dorian’s palms cupped Lars’ jaw, Lars tantalising himself with tracing the outline of muscles across Dorian’s upper back. It was a kiss of intent, sealing a promise made between two men deeply in love. The commitment Lars had been searching for was made, his whole body trembling as he made his final request.

‘Stay with me tonight.’ Lars’ admission was laboured, shaky. ‘Please, I need you. I need to feel all of you.’

Dorian’s look was piercing, searching for the right answer in Lars’ earnest gaze. Lars could pinpoint the moment he made his decision, Dorian’s expression softening even further. Not that he had much time to contemplate such a glorious demeanour. In a trice, Dorian scooped him up, carrying Lars across the threshold and back into the bedroom, stumbling several times in the process. Lars automatically flung his arms around Dorian’s neck, laughing and protest while being roundly ignored.

As they collapsed on the bed in a fit of hilarity, Lars pulled Dorian to him for another searing kiss. The time for talking had passed, where only the most intimate actions would truly display the depth of their devotion. Living was about more than survival, a lesson Lars had learned the hard way. With Dorian, anything was possible, and Lars would hold back no longer.


End file.
